arms and a great pile of
linen from an outhouse--such a grange as Cedric the Saxon might have
given to a guest for the night. A couple were in a laboratory, a tall,
bright, clean room, 500 years old at least. "We saw you were not
very religious," said one of the old ladies, with a red, wrinkled,
good-humored face, "by your behavior yesterday in chapel." And yet
we did not laugh and talk as we used at college, but were profoundly
affected by the scene that we saw there. It was a fete-day: a mass of
Mozart was sung in the evening--not well sung, and yet so exquisitely
tender and melodious, that it brought tears into our eyes. There were
not above twenty people in the church: all, save three or four, were
women in long black cloaks. I took them for nuns at first. They were,
however, the common people of the town, very poor indeed, doubtless,
for the priest's box that was brought round was not added to by most of
them, and their contributions were but two-cent pieces,--five of these
go to a penny; but we know the value of such, and can tell the exact
worth of a poor woman's mite! The box-bearer did not seem at first
willing to accept our donation--we were strangers and heretics; however,
I held out my hand, and he came perforce as it were. Indeed it had only
a franc in it: but que voulez-vous? I had been drinking a bottle of
Rhine wine that day, and how was I to afford more? The Rhine wine is
dear in this country, and costs four francs a bottle.

Well, the service proceeded. Twenty poor women, two Englishmen, four
ragged beggars, cowering on the steps; and there was the priest at the
altar, in a great robe of gold and damask, two little boys in white
surplices serving him, holding his robe as he rose and bowed, and the
money-gatherer swinging his censer, and filling the little chapel with
smoke. The music pealed with wonderful sweetness; you could see the prim
white heads of the nuns in their gallery. The evening light streamed
down upon old statues of saints and carved brown stalls, and lighted up
the head of the golden-haired Magdalen in a picture of the entombment
of Christ. Over the gallery, and, as it were, a kind protectress to the
poor below, stood the statue of the Virgin.

III.--WATERLOO.

It is, my dear, the happy privilege of your sex in England to quit the
dinner-table after the wine-bottles have once or twice gone round it,
and you are thereby saved (though, to be sure, I can't tell what the
ladies d